I think this, next to love, is my theme song.
Lifting our hearts and hurts to God, trusting He hears us, trusting He wants to help us, is the boldest act of faith. Wanting desperately to square our feelings with truth about who He is and how much He loves us takes time, effort and commitment.
Like Jacob, we may (most probably will?!) limp after the encounter but it is worth it.
Precious struggling heart, don’t give up.
Wrestle on. 
If I’m honest, the things that hurt in the first days, weeks and months could fill a book.
But now, I’ve developed a thicker skin and a better perspective.
If you are still early in your journey and, like me, a giant walking nerve, then your list would definitely be different.
I can narrow them down at this point to a few.
What really hurts:
What helps:
I will not say that Dominic’s death is good.
It’s not.
Death is awful and should be recognized for the enemy it is.
But I will say I have gained wisdom through this experience.
I’ve paid a price I would never willingly have paid. And I would trade it all for my boy in the flesh, my arms around him, his deep voice added to the chorus at our table.
I won’t waste it.
I will share it.
I pray every day that it helps other hearts walk this Valley and instructs those walking with us.
I woke this morning to a frantic voice mail left overnight when my phone was on sleep mode which silences all but my few “favorites” from ringing through.
A precious young woman from my family’s past was reaching out because she knew I was a safe person. I wish I had been able to talk to her when she needed me most but I was left with the only option available: call her back and leave a voice mail message.
It’s a poor substitute for being there when someone is hanging on by a thread.
It made me think of the dozens of ways my children and I have learned to “be there” for broken hearts and broken lives.
It’s an easy yes for any one of us when someone calls and says, “Can you talk?”.
Even when it’s inconvenient or worse, we answer the phone and allow that heart to spill its contents until there is some relief and possibly some way forward.
Some days I’m tapped out.
I may not haul feed bags or lift boxes but my heart is wrung dry by mid-morning.
Hours long telephone conversations in which there is no real answer and no way to untangle complex webs of addiction or family history or personal trauma leave me needing a nap.
I try to take a break when I need to and come back fresh when I can.
In this Season of Sorrow I have a little less to give.
But I am committed to helping other broken hearts limp along toward healing for as long as I am able.
So many have helped me.
I want to share the gift. ❤
I hurt for hearts who enter the long road of child loss without the support of really, truly friends.
I have been blessed for nearly ten years with two precious hearts who- even though they have been spared the pain of child loss- chose to walk alongside me.
These women right here.
They came alongside and helped me remember that light still existed when darkness was all I could feel and all I could see.
They brought lunch to my home- over an hour away- and loved me, listened to me, didn’t toss Bible verses or correct me. They were much better friends than the ones who joined Job on the ash heap.
I can never repay the debt I owe them.
I’m so thankful that we are aging together and will spend eternity proving that grace, love and the Gospel transform hearts and lives.
I love y’all. ❤️❤️
Truth is, I’m stronger and better able to carry this burden of loss and missing than I was even two or three years ago.
But considering the dates, considering that it’s been TEN YEARS since I last hugged and spoke to Dominic, this “anniversary” is different.
I think about what happened in the space of a decade in my own life and it overwhelms my heart to realize that the Dominic I remember would most likely be a completely different person NOW than THEN.
In ten years I went from a college freshman to a mother of four.
In ten years I went from a mother of four to a mother of a high school senior.
In ten years I went from a mother with four children in college to a grandmother.
Who Dominic might be now is something I long to know but dread to consider.
It highlights all the life he would have lived between his death and today and I feel like a bit of an intruder to try to figure out what those years might have looked like. Each of my children have taken paths I could not have anticipated because they are their own persons.
I know many bereaved parents who have a vivid conception of who their child might be today. I’m just not one of them.
In light of eternity, ten years is less than a speck of dust.
But in light of a life lived, it’s greater than ten percent (for most of us).
For this mama’s heart, it’s more than I could imagine having survived on that dark morning.
I’m writing this today as springtime sunlight floods my window and the scent of grass and growing things wafts in the breeze.
I still feel the stir of life when the days grow longer and the laying hens gift us with eggs every twenty-four hours.
But for ten years now my heart drags itself into the light bearing a burden of darkness.
In the early years it totally eclipsed any promise spring might portend. Birdsong only reminded me of my son’s silent voice. Flowers smelled like death. The appearance of fresh growth highlighted the passage of time and the timelessness of missing Dominic.
It took a long while to learn how to be alive and also acknowledge the awful reality and sadness of death.
Now I can watch the faithful chickadee family (generations of them) who perch on a garden torch singing praise to the rising sun. I marvel when a daring chipmunk races to retrieve some tasty tidbit while keeping a watchful eye for my outdoor cats. I count the hours as the sun makes its path outside my kitchen window from darkest dawn to midday and beyond.
I put on and take off the garment of grief many times each day.
I regret springs spent doing anything other than reveling in the beautiful life of my beautiful children. I wish I had understood then what I understand now: Life is short, no matter how long it lasts.
Then a lovely memory pops into my mind and I know I did the best I could with what I knew at the time. We DID spend days playing and laughing and learning together.
It’s a battle, this remembering.
I don’t always have time to indulge my heart.
But for this season, this day, I’m giving myself permission.
I’m so thankful for this truth.
I had a large goat and sheep herd for over 20 years. In that time I learned a great deal about a shepherd’s heart.
I was privileged to lead, feed and protect the creatures in my care. More than once, a lamb who was near death or an older animal, injured and despairing, was nursed back to vibrancy with tender care and attention.
My favorite way to picture Jesús is as my Shepherd King.
He is the Shepherd whose heart is always for me, whose love is perfect and my King who is supremely able and powerful to work His will in my life.
If even the idea of hope has long vanished, precious heart, lean into Him.
He will carry you until you find it again.
“The worst conceivable thing has happened, and it has been mended…All shall be well, and all shall be well and all manner of thing shall be well.” ~Julian of Norwich
I’m not sure when I first read this quote, but it came to my mind that awful morning. And I played it over and over in my head, reassuring my broken heart that indeed, the worst had already happened, and been mended.
Death had died.
Christ was risen-the firstfruits of many brethren.
Read the rest here: Resurrection: Reality and Reassurance
We began this journey forty days ago with the idea “Decrease is only holy when its destination is love” (Alicia Britt Chole).
The aim of Lent or any other period of fasting or self-denial is not to thin our waists but to thin our self-reliance and our self-importance to make room for the power and sustaining grace of Jesus-to open our hearts and our souls to His love.
Read the rest here: Lenten Reflections: Christ in Me, The Hope of Glory
It is tempting to forget that there were three long days and nights between the crucifixion and the resurrection beause the way we observe this season rushes us past the pain to embrace the promise.
But it’s not hard for me to imagine how the disciples felt when they saw Jesus was dead. It was neither what they expected nor what they prayed for.
There were many points in the story when things could have gone a different way:
At every turn, every expectation they had for a “happy ending” was dashed to the ground.
Read the rest here: Living Between the Crucifixion and the Resurrection
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